


The Yellowed Pages

by Wonderlandleighleigh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Gen, This was written in 2010, for an LJ Genfic exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:56:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28612440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonderlandleighleigh/pseuds/Wonderlandleighleigh
Summary: The Summer after the Apocalypse is averted, Castiel decides to take up reading, and the humans around him are more than willing to offer up their recommendations, good and bad.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	The Yellowed Pages

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written between seasons 5 and 6 in 2010, and I had no idea what was coming down the pike. So this is obviously an AU.

It’s an old bookshop; quiet and musty with the smell of ancient paper hanging in the air.

It’s a smell Castiel finds comforting as he roams through the shelves. All he can hear is the buzz of the air conditioner and a couple of hushed voices from the front counter.

Heaven has made him restless. He’s gotten everything under control and now suddenly he has nothing left to do, and after spending time on Earth, seeing how much there is on this plain of existence, Castiel realized that he’s begun to feel…well…bored.

There is still so much to see. The wonders of the world, and so many great and incredible sights.

Sadly, the people he’s come to count as friends don’t have much interest in seeing those sights. Mostly, they insist on staying in the general vicinity of Middle-of-Nowhere, United States.

“I hear Italy is nice this time of year,” Castiel mentioned upon his return to the mortal coil.

He should have known better than that. He must have forgotten who he was talking to.

“What do you need Italy for? We got the world’s largest ball of twine twenty miles down the road!”

He supposes he doesn’t really need them. He could see his father’s many creations by himself, but it seems lonely, and he likes the company the Winchester brothers provide.

It’s the reason he’s now roaming this old bookstore on Maryland's sleepy Eastern Shore, the summer heat beating in through the uncovered windows.

Bobby chased down an obscure text and the boys had agreed to get it for him instead of accompanying the older man on a werewolf hunt. They’ve been doing that often since they stopped the Apocalypse; taking quiet odd jobs instead of hunting down monsters. The Winchesters seem tired of hunting; tired of their lot in life, and Castiel doesn’t really blame them after all that they’ve been through.

He lets his mind wander away from the nightmare that had almost been the end of the world, and looks around. So many books by so many different people. So much imagination went into each and every one, and most of these writers – the ones who use angels and demons and the end of the world to tell their stories – most of them probably don’t even realize they’ve gotten it at least somewhat right.

After all, Chuck the Prophet had no idea just how true to life his novels were until his main characters showed up on his doorstep.

Briefly, Castiel wonders what ever happened to Chuck. The Winchesters had stopped by his house after everything had calmed down, but the sign out front, detailing the house’s foreclosure, left that trail cold.

There’s no trace of the prophet. Not even Becky has any clue what happened to him, though Dean suspects he’d run off with a prostitute.

“Help you with anything?”

Castiel turns and regards the young woman behind him with a calm, blank expression.

She’s too short to reach the top shelves, and her curly brown hair, made frizzy by the humidity, frames a full face. In her arms are a large stack of books and the nametag attached to the pocket of her jeans simply reads “Lily.”

“No,” Castiel replies. “Thank you.”

“Okay, well, if you need anything just let me know,” she nods as she begins to slide the top book from her stack into its rightful place on the shelf.

He stands and watches her for a long moment before she turns her head to meet his gaze.

“Do I have a booger sticking out of my nose?” she asks with an amused grin.

“No,” Castiel shakes his head, even though he’s only vaguely aware of what a “booger” is.

“Then can I help you with anything?”

He chews on his lip for a long moment, looking out the window and then the other way down the narrow aisle of books.

Eventually he looks back at the clerk, staring at her curiously. “What would you recommend?”

*****

“Thanks, Benett. Bobby says he owes you one.”

Benett is the pudgy old man with gray hair and glasses leaning behind the front counter. He’s also the owner of the bookstore, and a former hunter, only giving it up after a run-in with a nasty shape shifter.

“Yeah, he always says that.”

Sam gives him a thin smile. ‘You never know, he might mean it this time around.”

Dean lifts the paper bag with their find. “We should get Cas and get moving. Wanna try and get across the Bay Bridge before rush hour.”

A moment later, before either Winchester can move, Castiel steps up to the counter, placing a copy of Mary Shelly’s _Frankenstein_ on the wooden countertop.

“I would like to purchase this book,” he says, staring Benett in the eyes.

The brothers give each other confused looks, but the old shop owner is only too happy.

“Sure thing.” But instead of stepping toward the register, Benett calls out toward the shelves. “Lily!”

“Oh, my god!” she cries back. “You can ring up one book!”

“Yeah, but I hired you so I wouldn’t have to.”

Dean misses the entire exchange. He’s too busy staring at the angel next to him. “Cas, what’re you doing?”

“Purchasing a book.”

“Why?”

“To read it.”

Sam grins. “That’s great. And it’s a good book.”

“It’s not that good,” Dean grumbles. "It’s boring, and it’s about a monster. We deal with monsters all the time.”

“When did you ever read _Frankenstein_?” Sam asks, wrinkling his nose doubtfully.

“Seven-ninety,” Lily cuts in. She accepts Castiel’s proffered credit card and runs it through, casually looking at the name engraved into the plastic. “Joe Jonas?” she asks skeptically.

Dean snorts, causing Sam to give him a sour look.

Castiel remains unphased. He takes back his card and signs the little slip of paper, before taking the small softcover book and putting it into the pocket of his trench coat.

*****

He reads the entire thing over the long car ride back to Bobby's, sitting up straight in the backseat.

"I feel connected to the monster," he tells the boys late at night on a dark, narrow back road in South Dakota. His face and the last page of his book illuminated by the mag light in his hand.

Sam and Dean look at each other worriedly.

"Uh," Sam reminds him nervously. "Frankenstein's monster murders people."

"Everybody except the ship captain was a douche in that book," Dean snaps. "Dr. Frankenstein was a giant wuss who took way too long to take responsibility for his fuck-ups."

Castiel tilts his head and stares at them. "In many ways, Dean, you have just described my father. Someone who creates life and then refuses to clean up the messes that life makes."

The car goes silent.

"You know, Cas," Sam said. "Maybe we should get you a funnier book next time."

*****

Over the following week, Sam hands Castiel a number of books, including _American Gods_ , which doesn’t go over well at all, and _Wuthering Heights_ , which confuses Castiel and makes Dean tease them both for hours. _Anansi Boys_ goes over even worse than _American Gods_ , despite being one of Dean's favorites.

"You ever get the feeling Neil Gaiman knew Gabriel when he was traipsin' around as the Trickster?" Dean asks as he flips through _Anansi Boys_ after Castiel decides not to finish it.

"All the time," Sam mutters as he rifles through his duffel bag for more books. "What about Kerouac?" He frowned. "Or Dickens?"

"What're you tryin'a do, bore him to death?" Dean asks.

"They're not boring!" Sam argues, standing up straight.

Dean groans and gets to his feet, pulling his own duffel bag open. "Look, Gaiman is good an' all," he says as he rummages through the bag. "But Cas needs something that doesn't take itself too seriously."

Sam wrinkles his nose. "He liked _Frankenstein_."

"He's a weirdo!" Dean shrugs. Out of his bag, he pulls a few beat-up paperbacks. "he needs somethin' lighter than Dickens, and for crap's sake, Sammy, Emily Bronte? He may be an Angel, but Cas is still an adult. That shit was like the _Twilight_ of whenever the hell it was written."

Sam stands back and blinks at him, crossing his arms. "So...so you've read _Twilight_?"

"What?"

" _Twilight_... You've read it?"

"Course not!"

"And you know that Emily Bronte wrote _Wuthering Heights_."

Dean rolls his eyes at him. "That's common knowledge!"

Sam doesn’t get a chance to tease his brother any further before Castiel walks in the room.

He zeroes in on the books in Dean's hands immediately. "Are those for me?"

"Yeah," Dean nods. "They're Terry Pratchett books. Discworld, they're awesome, you'll love 'em."

Castiel takes them and looks them over before wandering off back towards Bobby's front door.

"He's not gonna like 'em," Sam says.

"Course he is, they're awesome."

"He's not gonna get it," Sam tells him. "They've got a million weird little references and jokes that are gonna fly right over his head. The entire universe exists on the back of a turtle!"

From the porch they hear a strange, deep sound. Both boys jump a little and turn to the porch to find Castiel, standing there, reading and...laughing. "The Death of Rats," he mutters to himself, before walking into the house.

Sam makes his patented sour grapes unhappy face, and Dean throws a fist up in the air.

"I'm awesome!"

*****

They spend the next week at Lisa and Ben's for a short visit, one which Sam spends on his laptop, scouring the internet for the perfect book series to one-up his older brother with.

"Face it, Sammy," Dean says as he sipped his coffee, leaning against Lisa's kitchen counters. "I beat you. I found awesome books that Cas likes and the ones you picked are boring and crappy."

"Jerk," Sam grumbles as he types furiously on his laptop.

"But an awesome jerk," Dean grins, raising his coffee cup in a toast to himself.

Ben watches them, a little puzzled, but amused. "Aren't you guys supposed to be like...hunting monsters or whatever?" the eleven-year-old asks with a laugh.

"We're on summer vacation," Dean tells him with a grin.

"And they've started a book club," Lisa jokes, shaking her head as she sits down with a cup of tea for herself.

"Have not," Dean snaps. "We're not Oprah."

She laughs. "Gaze upon your future and weep, Ben," she said teasingly. "One day you'll be just as stubborn as these two."

"We're not stubborn!" the Winchesters cry in unison.

At that moment, Castiel wanders in, a stack of aging paperbacks in his arms. "I have finished with these. I require something else to read."

Ben's eyes widen. "You finished all those? Like...just now?"

"Yes," Castiel replies.

"Will you stay and do my homework for me when school starts?" Ben asks.

Lisa snickers in that way that only mothers can when their children have said something they're going to say no to. "Nice try, Buddy." She gets to her feet and takes Castiel's arm. "Come on, Cas, you can read something from my collection."

For a moment, both Winchesters give looks of sheer panic, before they both start to snort and snicker at the thought of Castiel reading chick lit.

Ben, meanwhile, picks up the first of the Discworld books and sits back to read.

*****

It’s hours later that Dean finds Castiel slumped down on Lisa's front porch, a book in his hand, a look of sadness on his face.

"What's wrong with you?" Dean asks, sitting down next to him.

"I do not understand why no one was able to treat Henry's Chrono-Displacement," Castiel laments. "Why was no one able to save him and his wife from the horrors of his time-traveling disease?"

Dean narrows his eyes and snatches the book from Castiel's arms, reading the title. " _The Time Traveler's Wife_?!" He groans. "For god's sake! Lisa! Stop giving Cas sad Chick lit!"

"He wanted to read it!" Lisa calls back.

"It's a good book!" Sam defends.

Dean slumps back and groans again.

*****

They leave Lisa's the next evening after promising to return for another visit before the school year starts, and stop by the local used bookstore to pick up an armload of old James Bond novels.

"I do not understand," Castiel tells them as he narrows his eyes at his copy of _Casino Royale_.

"What?" Dean asks, half asleep in the passenger's seat.

"Say goodbye to 'it'? Say goodbye to what?"

Sam snorts from the driver's seat, laughing so hard the car swerves.

"Hey!" Dean snaps. "Pay attention!"

"Reread the paragraph, Cas," Sam says, still laughing.

He does, and slowly his legs cross. "Oh."

Dean shakes his head and slumps back. "Yep."

*****

Bobby's attic is dusty, not that it bothers Castiel. Really it’s just an observation as he follows Bobby to a musty, cobweb covered corner. He watches the man pull out a cardboard box and blow the dust off of it.

Bobby clears his throat from the dust and then hands the box to Castiel. "Here ya go."

"What is it?" Castiel asks.

"Open it and find out, Dummy," the old hunter replies lightly.

Castiel sits on the creaky floor of the attic and pulls the lid off the box, finding a pile of old books inside. Their pages are yellowed but the print is still easy to read. Upon further inspection he realizes that they are childrens' books. _The Wizard of Oz, A Wrinkle in Time, Wind in the Willows, The Hobbit, The Phantom Tollbooth_ and _Bunnicula_ are the top few, while others such as _Harriet the Spy_ and _Peter Pan_ are on the bottom.

Off of the Angel's quizzical look, Bobby nods.

"Those were the boys' books when they were kids," he says. "Usedta get dumped here by their Daddy, and with only one TV, it was hard findin' stuff for 'em to do. Most of those I bought for 'em...John bought that Hobbit book for them to share, and I think Dean had that copy of _Wizard of Oz_ since before the fire."

Castiel lifts the dust-caked book and feels its history; almost sees it with his own eyes. A little boy, standing in a doorway begging to be read to by a blonde woman, exasperated but indulgent.

"I figured you were so hot for stuff to read, you might like to see what they grew up with," Bobby shrugs.

"It doesn't feel right to read these without their permission," Castiel replies. "It feels...unsympathetic."

Bobby tilts his head in curiosity. “Y'know, for an Angel the man upstairs hit the reset button on, you sure are actin' more human since you've been back with us."

Castiel looks down at the box of books. "They restored my powers. That doesn't mean they erased my experiences."

"What're you two doin' up there?!" Sam's voice calls up, before his footsteps echo up the stairs. Another set follows, indicating that Dean is right behind him.

"You wanted to ask permission, now's your chance," Bobby comments, patting the Angel on the shoulder.

*****

September first marks their first hunt since taking their summer break, and Dean trudges back into their motel room sore and bruised, a cut stinging his cheek, just under his eye. Sam is already asleep, having fallen onto his mattress and immediately passing out.

Dean himself, after removing his boots and socks, is about to follow his brother into dreamland on the other bed when the familiar sound of flapping wings makes him open his eyes.

"Hey, Cas," he says, too tired to be cranky about being disturbed.

Castiel nods, holding a box in his hands. "Dean."

"What’s up?" Dean asks. "I need to pass out like an hour ago."

"I have come to return your books," Castiel explains, setting the box down on the bed at the hunter's feet. "I hope you're not upset. I let some of my Angel brethren borrow them."

"Whatever."

"I did not tear any pages."

"Good."

"I'll leave now."

"See ya."

A moment of silence passes, but Dean doesn’t hear the whoosh of angel wings he’s accustomed to.

"What, Cas?"

"I've heard that there are books that follow the one about the short being that slays the dragon," Castiel says awkwardly. "Do you have them?"

" _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy," Dean mutters, having trouble staying awake. "Sam just finished rereading 'em...they..." he yawns. "They're in his bag."

Dean listens to Castiel's footsteps quietly walk across the room, and the sounds of the angel rummaging through Sam's bag.

"Thank you, Dean."

The older Winchester merely grunts out “bring ‘em back soon, I’m rereading next,” and finally, hears the soft flap of wings, signalling Castiel's departure.

In the stillness of the hotel room, Dean lets his toes brush against the box, and then falls asleep.


End file.
